Legends Of Time
by chinarai
Summary: In which the Princess of Destiny and the Hero of Time meet and love ensues. II: Hair: He threads his fingers through her hair, never holding it for too long, because it's most beautiful when it flows free like time itself.
1. I: Superhero

I know I promised a few people that my next zelink story would be a happy one, but my hand slipped and I totally blame the fanfic I read yesterday; it had me crying for the rest of the day and it fucked me up, just like _Instinct_ by _heteroceric-heart_.

Just another drabble/one-shot collection but set/based in/on Ocarina of Time instead - whooray!

Reviews are appreciated and I hope you enjoy this one! Hopefully your heart won't get broken.

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**i. superhero**

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Her fingers, clean, entwine with his, scarred and rough, tainted with blood that will never disappear no matter how many times he washes his hands. The room is plain. The bright light casts long shadows on the white floor; they stretch across the room and touch the legs of his bed and the hem of her long fine dress. He is silent, immobile, the air he breathes comes out in ragged breaths through chapped lips, his blond hair lays sprawled on the pillow. One eye is closed; the other, bandaged.

What can she do in a time like this? Only sit and wait, and hold his hands when he wakes from his deep restless sleep, and fights the delirium and the pain. His voice is hoarse when he screams incoherent words into the quiet room, startling medics, nurses and whoever is nearby. Her grip is strong, but his is stronger, and she fights back tears of pain, for him and for her, as he trashes in bed and bleeds before her eyes, but she is powerless to do anything and deeply blames herself for the way it all happened.

He no longer fights death. They have his condition established, all wounds treated and closed, except for one. He could have died, she tells herself; he could have died out there, out in the open field when he got separated from the army he was leading and was caught by surprise by the enemy. It must have hurt so much, and must have taken a lot of courage, which he has, a lot of it, filling his soul to the brim, to take out the arrow that pierced his right eye.

They had to remove it, else he would die of infection. It was a mystery how he didn't die of blood loss, or how he managed to find a stray horse and return to Hyrule Castle.

The people ask for him. They had seen his condition when he arrived by himself on top of an unfamiliar horse, barely balancing himself on its back as a hand clutched his face and the other his sides. There were broken and cracked ribs, fingers, cuts and a concussion; and then there was the eye. They see him as a superhero, feared by death and the mortal; but he is only human, and he bleeds and he is broken, he struggles just like everyone else.

Zelda brushes away his fringe with her fingertips, afraid that he will break under her touch. He is the one who says that, who uses only the gentlest motions on her. He is ruthless when he needs to protect, and tender when he needs to love, and oh does he love her.

He stirs under her touch, his breath hitches in a sharp intake of air when his mind accesses the throbbing pain in his eye socket. One tired blue iris peek at her through the gap of his eyelids, and she tries so hard to smile but it feels like a grimace. But he smiles, softly and lovingly, at her, and she cries before his eye.

He chooses to ignore it, and tightens his fingers around hers as much as he can. "Good morning." She can't contain the sob that flees her mouth and turns her head away, but he has already seen it all; the tears, the worry, the dark circles under her eyes, the hollow in her cheeks and her reddening nose. Her hands, he notices, are thin and fragile in his; her fingers almost bony now.

"You haven't been eating," he says, and she clamps a hand over her mouth. Her head shakes, her waterfall of blonde hair swaying and glinting under the light that is slowly reaching them. "You need to take care of yourself." Zelda wants to scream at him, and say that he should be worrying about his health, but she always comes first and he won't change it now, she knows it.

The hero of many wars holds her hand between his palms; they are warm and his fingers are still bandaged. She tries to compose herself and glue her pieces together; she can't afford to be weak now of all times. Digits trace the back on her hand and the inner side of her wrist, trailing the veins under her pale skin, and the princess shivers, shudders, and wants to pull away out of guilt, but he is strong, and she isn't. "You need to go out more." He says as a fingertip taps the center of her palm; he never liked it that she didn't take enough walks to sunbathe and usually forced her to go to the courtyard for at least five minutes whenever he could. The same finger is pressed to her pulse, her fingers curl around empty air.

He is pretending, she realizes. Pretending that this is just another injury that will heal over time, pretending that one day he will see the world with both eyes again. Her fingers dig into the skin of her palm; he sees it, but doesn't say anything. Light reaches her left hand, touches the golden band around her ring finger and it shines gloriously, just like his that lay on the bedside table over his gauntlets. It makes her think if he will ever love her like he did before she sent him to the war, sent him to a near death experience.

The sun sinks lower, casts red hues over the white walls of the infirmary. Link glances out the window, only now noticing that it is close to nightfall. The sun glares at him, his hair turns bright orange, and his grip tightens around her hand, almost painfully, as he blinks. against the light.

Blinks only the right eye.


	2. II: Hair

I don't really know what I was aiming for haha I wanted to write cute TP Zelink, but in the end it turned out to be OOT Zelink and I'm okay with it!

I reaaally need to write more Zelda, so feel free to send me prompts on c_hinarai_ tumblr, leave a prompt in your review or even PM me; I'll do my best!

Enjoy! xx

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**II: Hair**

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He threads his fingers through her hair. It's smooth, silky; it flows between his fingers like cool water from a stream, knotless, shines beautifully under the afternoon sun, smells as sweetly as a dozen of bloomed roses, cascades down her back as free as a waterfall.

He threads his fingers through her hair, amazement swelling up inside him, the softness of her locks feel so foreign in his rough, callused palms, so used to wielding swords and weapons, carrying shields and shooting arrows. Maybe her hair isn't that soft, maybe it's just his battle ragged hands and agitated mind playing tricks on him, but still her locks slips between the gaps of his fingers, curls slightly at the end and blows gently in the breeze.

It's golden, like many treasures he found in so many dungeons, golden and rich like the crown she wears on her head. It shines like the clean waters of Lake Hylia under the midday sun, maybe like the sun itself. He twists a strand in his fingers, watches as the sliver of sparkles travel up and down her fine hair; pulls it all back and up in a ponytail, holds it there so he can study her elegant neck and the curve of her shoulders, the fair skin of her nape and the clasp of a sapphire necklace that doesn't shine as bright as her eyes.

He lets it go, sees her hair falling down in slow motion, locks floating to rest against her back. She remains silent, one small content smile on her lips as her lean fingers pluck at the green blades of grass and knot a series of white flowers together. She exhales through her nose, his rough fingertips accidentally brush the crook of her neck and pull her hair away once again, and he separates it in three thick locks and starts braiding it, loosely, messily, and once he is halfway through he decides against it, so he releases her hair, it falls behind her like a waterfall.

She shifts and turns around, and he's surprised when her hair is tugged away and flows free from his grasp. He meets her eyes, crinkled in a smile, and he smiles in return, a boyish grin that will never leave his face no matter how many battles he has fought and won, no matter how many years pass and he grows old and wrinkly. Her features soften, her hands find his head and take off his worn out green cap, her fingers weave through his loosely tied hair until it falls loose, but never as free as hers, the tips swaying in the breeze and grazing his covered shoulder.

Again she smiles, that one smile that makes his heart ache, and she lifts her hands again, a flower crown of windflowers rests on top of his head, and he doesn't know if he sees or imagines thetears in her eyes. But her grin is wide and bright, like all the stars and the moon above, and so he allows himself to forget as they stand at the foot of a hill far from Hyrule Castle. He moves in closer, hands gently cradling her face and angling her head, and his lips find hers, and hers find his, and the wind blows past them, carrying petals and singing a soundless song.

He threads his fingers through her hair, fingers tingling as if he has touched the most valuable of treasures, skin burning as if he has dipped it into a pot of melted gold.

They pull away and smile, almost dumbly, perhaps foolishly in love.

He threads his fingers through her hair, never holding it for too long, because it's most beautiful when it flows free like time itself.

And so he dips his head forward, and they kiss again.


End file.
